Unforgiven: The Life of Severus Snape
by ThePet
Summary: We become the thing we hate the most. Harry Potter has lost everyone he ever cared for, including himself...and only one person can understand how he feels: Severus Snape.
1. Prologue

Prologue: An Antidote for Poison  
  
1  
  
It was Harry Potter's thirtieth birthday, and the whole wizarding world wanted to celebrate it with him, which was ironic, given that Harry had no wish to celebrate it himself. Another, far greater cause for festivity was that this day, Harry's birthday, was also the thirteenth anniversary of the final defeat of Lord Voldemort. And yet, Harry felt no jubilation on the morning of July 31st, 2010; he had no desire to attend any of the many parties thrown in his honour, or talk to the hordes of reporters outside the door of his country cottage, though many of them had camped there for several nights. This was not merely a wish to avoid publicity, though Harry had come to bitterly detest the fame which had been thrust upon him; for Harry Potter, July 31st would always be associated in his mind not with his triumph over the most fearsome dark wizard ever to have lived, but with the deaths of his mentor, of his best friend, and of his last remaining link to the parents he could barely remember.  
  
On that day, Harry had watched as Albus Dumbledore gave his life to reduce the Dark Lord's strength, temporarily, just enough to allow Harry to destroy him. Harry had watched as Ron Weasley and Remus Lupin battled Death Eaters, Dementors and vampires, keeping them away from Harry as the young man moved steadily closer to Voldemort. Harry had not been allowed a moment to grieve as his friends were cut down; every thought in his mind was focussed on Voldemort as he performed the final curse which ridded the world forever of its most vicious and deadly human inhabitant.  
  
It had all been carefully planned - Dumbledore's death had been a certainty, but despite the odds, Harry had allowed himself to hope that Lupin and Ron might have a chance of survival. It was not to be, and only in retrospect did Harry recognise the inevitability of their destruction, and realise the profundity of the sacrifice they had made for the world, and for him. Harry had not expected to survive, and in his despair and grief he envied the dead their final rest.  
  
Ultimately, it was this which made him return to Hogwarts on his thirtieth birthday, ignoring the celebrations going on everywhere around him, to find the one man who was certain not to be enjoying himself on this day. The one person who understood why Harry could not feel even a grim sense of triumph at the Dark Lord's destruction, when everyone else around Harry could not understand his silent anguish, and, after many attempts at drawing him out, had long since abandoned him.  
  
Snape was in his office when Harry arrived at Hogwarts, presumably avoiding the Great Hall, where a tremendous feast was taking place despite the lack of pupils currently in residence at the school. It was here that the reunion of the Order of the Phoenix was being conducted, and the Hall was filled with survivors of the final battle, along with many relatives and friends. Harry paused for a moment, gazing through the open doors from the safety of shadow, watching the merriment within. The tables in the Hall had been moved to the edges of the room, leaving a large central space in which those present mingled. High Table was set with what appeared to be a sumptuous buffet. There was quite a crowd assembled; Harry spotted Mad-Eye Moody swigging from his hip-flask, and quickly sank back further out of sight, though Moody's magical eye could probably locate him easily enough anyway. Time to move on. Harry turned away from the brightly lit Hall and headed towards the dark dungeon steps, failing to notice the slight figure of Headmistress Minerva McGonagall until he was almost upon her.  
  
"Professor," he muttered, not meeting her eyes.  
  
"Mr. Potter," came the brisk reply. "I'm pleased to see you decided to accept our invitation after all."  
  
Harry continued to stare at the floor, willing himself to be callous.  
  
"Actually, Professor, I didn't come here for the party," finally Harry risked looking up at her. McGonagall stared back sharply, her piercing eyes taking in his rather ragged appearance.  
  
"I see," was her only comment, but her tone suggested that it was not merely a turn of phrase. "Then I won't detain you any longer. He's in his office."  
  
Harry turned to leave, but she called after him.  
  
"Mr. Potter.if you should wish to join us later, you would be most welcome. There are a number of people here who will be very pleased to see you."  
  
"Thanks," he said shortly, and so obviously with no intention of accepting her invitation that she shrugged, and returned to the Great Hall without looking back again. Harry continued on his way to the dungeons, stopping halfway down the familiar stone steps, pausing for a moment outside the well-remembered door he had not seen for thirteen years, since the last time he was at Hogwarts. For an instant Harry had second thoughts about his quest - then he remembered Hermione's last letter, which had contained an invitation to her wedding, and knocked firmly on the door. There was a long moment of silence. Harry had begun to wonder whether Snape had decided to go the reunion after all when a voice he had not heard for thirteen years came softly through the door.  
  
"Come in, Mr. Potter."  
  
2  
  
Snape had changed very little in the years since Harry had last seen him. He was as thin and pale as ever, his eyes were still cold and glittered with their old malice, and his overlong black hair was still greasy, and tinged now with a little grey. He was working on a potion, stirring ingredients carefully in a large cauldron. He motioned Harry irritably to a chair with his free hand before adding a sprinkle of something Harry had long forgotten the name of to his concoction.  
  
"Doubtless the wretches will all be coming to me tomorrow for hangover cures," Snape muttered, seemingly more to himself than to Harry. "Pomfrey always refuses.might as well have a batch ready. Sit there," he snapped suddenly at his visitor, "and be silent."  
  
Harry did not reply, but sat as instructed, watching Snape work. After ten minutes, Snape ladled the completed potion into flasks, placed them in a cabinet, and laboriously cleaned the cauldron and put away the remainder of the ingredients. Finally he returned to his desk, without bothering to look at Harry until the younger man spoke.  
  
"You didn't go to the reunion upstairs, then?"  
  
"With whom would I wish to be reunited?" Snape shot back, with a twisted smile. "I see most of them far too often anyway. I would have thought that you might wish to rekindle old acquaintances, however."  
  
Harry did not answer, knowing that there would be more. Snape rarely left his dungeon, but he nevertheless learned everything that went on outside Hogwarts - if it interested him. Harry had only begun to interest him after the fall of Voldemort, when the much-lauded hero had all but disappeared from public view - and from the lives of his friends.  
  
"I gather," Snape went on, fixing Harry with his cold black gaze, "that you have little to do with your old friends these days."  
  
"True," Harry answered simply.  
  
"You used to have so many friends," murmured Snape, shaking his head in a gross parody of sympathy. "The Weasleys."  
  
"Ron's family," said Harry, quietly. How could he allow himself to take comfort from the Weasleys when he had been responsible for their youngest son's death? Arthur Weasley had withdrawn from the world himself since the death of his wife and three of his sons - Bill and Percy had died early in the fight against Voldemort, while Molly had perished in the last battle. Charlie Weasley had returned to Romania. Fred and George had taken their business, the invention of magical jokes and tricks, abroad, and spent a great deal of time out of the country. And Ginny had not spoken to Harry since she discovered that the death of her brother had been no unexpected tragedy, but a planned, deliberate sacrifice.  
  
"Miss Granger." Snape went on, watching Harry's eyes even more carefully.  
  
"She's getting married in three weeks," Harry replied, flatly. Hermione and Ron had been going out for only a few months before Ron's death, but it had been obvious to everyone that their relationship was a serious one. They would almost certainly have been married by now, had Ron lived. Hermione had not blamed Harry for Ron's death, and that was somehow worse than Ginny's reaction. Harry had taken Ron from Hermione as well as from the Weasleys, and he could take no solace from her, either, as a result. After years of trying to help him, Hermione had given up, writing occasional letters to tell Harry news of her life. Soon she would be married to a Muggle Harry had never met. He would not be attending the wedding. "I see," murmured Snape, in the same tone McGonagall had used a little earlier. He fell silent then, waiting for Harry to make his move.  
  
"It should have been you," said the younger man, eventually. There was no anger in his voice, merely a deep, terrible regret that was somehow worse. "You should have died, not Ron."  
  
"Believe me," Snape growled back, "I regret the turn of events which prevented that at least as much as you do."  
  
It had been Lupin and Snape who were to form Harry's guard in the battle, almost certainly doomed to die themselves, while protecting Harry for long enough to allow him to break through Voldemort's defences and destroy him. But Snape had been injured in a skirmish involving a group of Death-Eaters, two months before the plan was to be carried out. There was no option but to replace him - and Ron had been the one to offer himself. He had somehow convinced Harry that the chances of survival were good, but Harry recognised now that he had believed Ron's arguments because he wanted to, when there was no choice left but to sacrifice his best friend.  
  
"I could have coped with anything," Harry almost whispered, "if Ron had made it through. Anything."  
  
"Quite," was all Snape said, tonelessly.  
  
"You should be dead," said Harry, bluntly. "And so should I. The prophecy."  
  
"I thought you did not as a rule believe in Sybil Trelawney's fortune- telling, Potter."  
  
"She made three true prophecies," said Harry. "The third was genuine. Dumbledore said so."  
  
"So it must be true," mused Snape. "Dumbledore also said that after Voldemort's defeat, I would teach Defence Against the Dark Arts at Hogwarts. But he was wrong about that too, was he not?"  
  
Harry was not listening. He went on,  
  
"Trelawney's new prophecy was that Voldemort and I would destroy each other. It conflicted with what she'd said before, that one of us would kill the other. But she was right both times."  
  
He got to his feet, and paced restlessly around the office. Suddenly he turned to glare at Snape.  
  
"Because I *am* dead. In here." He placed a hand upon his chest. "I can't *feel* anymore. This isn't life, it's just existence."  
  
"And a wretched one at that," Snape agreed, calmly. "I now know why you came here, Potter.but what is it that you want of me? To teach you to live again?"  
  
Harry snorted. "No. If you knew how to do that you'd have managed it yourself. I want you to teach me how to survive like this, Professor. I want to understand it - to understand you."  
  
"In order to understand yourself."  
  
"Exactly."  
  
"You ask a lot, Potter."  
  
"I know. But you have time on your hands."  
  
"I have little else," agreed Snape, softly. The skirmish with the Death- Eaters had not wounded Snape physically, but it had destroyed him - some horrendous curse, performed by Lucius Malfoy, furious at Snape's betrayal, had stripped Snape of his ability to perform magic of any kind. The making of some rudimentary potions was still possible for him; McGonagall had allowed Snape to remain at Hogwarts, in his dungeon quarters, making minor medicinal potions for Madame Pomfrey. But it was true that this took up little of his time. He had plenty to spare for sharing Potter's misery. "But what," he asked, "do I get out of it?"  
  
Harry smiled grimly. "Absolution, perhaps," he suggested. Snape looked at him sharply, then slowly lowered his gaze, a crooked smile playing about his lips.  
  
"What is it, precisely, that you wish to know, Potter?"  
  
Harry leaned forward, his green eyes alive for the first time since he had entered the dungeon.  
  
"Everything. I want to know everything."  
  
"That may take some time," remarked Snape.  
  
"We both have it."  
  
"Indeed," Snape offered his twisted smile once again. "Very well, then. Since you have the kindness to be so interested, I will explain my past to you.but bear in mind, Potter, that it is private, and I would not do this to satisfy idle curiosity. You will speak of what I tell you to no one."  
  
"Agreed."  
  
"Very well, then." Snape rose, stretched, and made his way to the same cabinet in which he had stored the hangover remedies. He took out a dusty, unlabelled bottle, and poured a liberal amount of the contents into two glasses, handing one to Harry and taking the other himself.  
  
"What shall we drink to?" Harry wondered. Snape raised his glass, black eyes glittering.  
  
"What else, Mr. Potter? To Death, of course."  
  
Harry slowly raised his own glass.  
  
"To Death." 


	2. Chapter One

A/N The story starts properly here. Thanks to everyone who's reviewed so far; please do review if you can, I really appreciate the encouragement! Also - any requests for particular characters to be involved later in the story?  
  
Part One: Before Hogwarts  
  
Chapter One  
  
The boy-child came mewling into the world on the seventeenth of November. He was born with a mess of dark hair, and his father's prominent nose, as well as that man's rather changeable temperament. Baby Severus spent half his waking hours screaming in frustration, and the rest lying silently, contemplating who-knew-what in his infant's brain. By the age of nine months he was already able to talk, though he did not do so often - there was little of the normal childish babbling, and even less smiling. Baby Severus smiled only at his mother, and that rarely. For his father he reserved expressions of puzzlement, anger and, occasionally, terror.  
  
"I was born in November," said Severus Snape, pouring a second glass of whisky for himself, and another for Harry. "It was a wild night - there was a storm, one of the worst my mother had ever seen. She told me about it later. I was not, by the way, born to an entirely pureblood family - clearly that surprises you. Why should I be? There are very few genuine purebloods around these days. My mother was the daughter of a pureblood witch and a Muggle-born wizard; never mind who they were, know only that my mother's name was Leticia, and my father's was Sabinus. He was a.difficult man to live with, disappointed with his life, harsh and bitter. Don't smirk in that insufferable way, Potter. You may be the living image of your wretched father but believe me, my greatest ambition as a child was to avoid becoming anything at all like mine.  
  
"Sabinus had worked for the Ministry, before he met my mother, but when they married he found a number of his closest friends - purebloods, or so they liked to think of themselves, anyway - lost interest in him. His important contacts failed to further his career in the way he wanted, and he took to blaming my mother for his lack of promotion. In the end he gave up his job and turned to an alternative occupation - potion making. It was where Sabinus' real, and truth to be told only, talent lay, but the making of medicinal potions was not a sufficiently lucrative profession for him. He became involved in criminal activities, working for unscrupulous individuals who desired potions for various nefarious purposes. Eventually he progressed from this to making poisons, which he distributed freely to customers willing to pay the right price, taking no interest in the intended use of the substance.  
  
"My earliest memories - one of which you witnessed, Potter, during our initial abortive Occlumency lessons in your fifth year at Hogwarts - are of my parents arguing, or rather, Sabinus shouting at my mother. She loved him at first; love very quickly became fear, when she realised what a temperamental and vicious creature she had married. He would roar at her, threaten her, blame her for the position he had found himself in - for although Sabinus had little conscience, he feared being caught and sentenced for his crimes. To ensure that Mother didn't give him away to the Ministry, he kept her cowed and terrorised, threatening not only her liberty, but her life.  
  
"Thus we were more or less prisoners of Sabinus, Mother and I. Mother was in no way like her husband. She was a delicate, pretty woman, meek and gentle, always willing to put others before herself. She tried her best to keep me safe from Sabinus' fits of violent temper, but when he took to drink, when I was about three, he became increasingly unpredictable and out of control. My life was not in danger, for Sabinus had great plans for me - he wanted me to be proficient in the Dark Arts, something he took great interest in but had no true aptitude for; he wanted me to marry a wealthy pureblood witch and continue the family line, at the same time giving him passage into better society. We were not wealthy, or even financially secure; Sabinus' criminal activities brought us money illegally, but much of it went on drink and the procurement of ingredients for the poisons he made. Sabinus became increasingly indolent, often refusing work of legitimate or illegal kind for months on end, and then money would be painfully tight.  
  
"I was an intelligent child, and became aware at an early age that Sabinus treated Mother very badly. I longed to defend her, but despite my father's lack of magical skill, he was far too powerful for a nervous three-year-old boy. The scene you witnessed was one of many, though there was an occasion on which I attempted to stand up to Sabinus. Predictably, it ended badly."  
  
Three-year-old Severus sat on the couch, watching his mother prepare dinner. Sabinus Snape was out with some of his undesirable friends, drinking at a pub in Hogsmeade. He was negotiating a job with Caecius Fletcher, who, desirous of seeing an end to his demanding, impatient, nagging wife, was hoping to buy a potion suitable for the purpose. It was doubtful whether Fletcher would really murder his wife, for although unscrupulous he was not vicious; he had come to see Sabinus in a fit of pique after 'the missus' had furiously disposed of many Galleons' worth of stolen property which Fletcher had stored in their basement flat. Sabinus was happy enough to supply the potion on the understanding that Fletcher did not demand his money back if it was not used. Incensed at the implication that he was too cowardly to do away with his spouse, Fletcher was on the verge of handing over a hundred Galleons to Sabinus.  
  
It was most unfortunate for Sabinus Snape that Fletcher abruptly remembered, after being bought many drinks by Sabinus, that it was his wedding anniversary very soon. It didn't seem 'quite the ticket' to murder the woman on their anniversary, so Fletcher decided to 'take a rain check on the old poison, mate', and went on his merry way, leaving Sabinus fuming, out of pocket for both the drinks and the ingredients he had already procured.  
  
Thus Sabinus arrived home in a foul mood, feeling somehow that it was entirely his wife's fault. Leticia was so bloody *awkward* about it whenever there was a job available; he had to keep it from her as much as he could, if the moaning bitch found out about it she'd spend the whole night whining at him - but how could he explain where the fifty Galleons he'd promised her for housekeeping had gone? Not to mention the thirty he'd spent on drinks and ingredients. He decided the simplest thing would be to not explain at all - the bitch could say what she liked, it was his money.  
  
Little Severus looked up as the front door banged, turning to his Mother, who offered him a watery smile as she flicked her wand at the oven. She withdrew a large pot of stew and began to ladle it out onto plates, as Sabinus slammed his way into the room.  
  
"What are you looking at?" he demanded, as his son's large, limpid black eyes fixed on him.  
  
"Nothing, Father," the boy piped, quickly gazing at the floor. Sabinus immediately clutched his head.  
  
"Shut up, you little brat! How many times have I told you to *speak quietly*, if you have to open your wretched mouth at all!"  
  
He stormed out of the room to take off his travelling cloak. Severus blinked his large eyes, then spoke timidly to his mother.  
  
"Why is Father angry with me?"  
  
"He has a headache, dear," the slightly built, green-eyed witch replied, with a tremulous smile. "He's.worried about his work. Don't be upset."  
  
Severus looked uncertain, but said no more, and returned to the book he was studying. It was a photograph album belonging to his mother, and had many pictures of her family, including some very old Muggle photographs which fascinated Severus. The people in them did not move, but they looked happy and friendly, and all were smiling. So were the witches and wizards in the ordinary photographs. Severus liked the picture of his grandfather Percy the best; Percy was old, with white hair and beard, but his eyes were young and full of laughter. He had a broad smile, and waved cheerfully at Severus, with his other arm around his plump, beaming wife. Severus had never met granddad Percy, who lived in London somewhere, but he knew his mother owled him sometimes, and sent photographs of Severus and herself. He didn't understand why they never visited.  
  
Sabinus stamped back into the room as Severus was studying the picture of granddad Percy. Leticia quickly made to take the album from her son and put it away, but Sabinus had spotted it, and snatched it from his son's hands.  
  
"What's this? I told you to stop looking at those bloody pictures!"  
  
"They're his family, Sabinus," Leticia said quietly, without meeting her husband's eyes. He turned sharply to her, stumbling slightly.  
  
"We're his family," he hissed. "I don't want him having anything to do with Mudbloods."  
  
"My ancestors." she began, meekly, but Sabinus cut her off.  
  
"I can just about manage the knowledge that you had Mudbloods" - he spat the word - "in the family, but I won't have my boy contaminated by it. If Mother knew."  
  
"All right, Sabinus. All right," Leticia took the album from her husband swiftly - he looked on the verge of destroying it - and slipped it into a drawer, out of sight. "Come and have your dinner."  
  
With bad grace Sabinus threw himself into a chair. "Bring it to me here. I'm tired. And bring me some wine."  
  
Leticia hesitated, opened her mouth to suggest that perhaps her husband had had enough wine for the evening - then replied,  
  
"Yes, dear."  
  
Severus slunk timidly into the kitchen, trying not to draw attention to himself, and sat down at the table. Immediately Sabinus' voice rang out furiously from the sitting room.  
  
"Come back here! Think I'm not good enough to eat dinner with, do you?"  
  
"Sorry, Father!" the boy called.  
  
"Don't SHOUT!" Sabinus roared. Severus cringed, though his father could not see it, then slipped back into the sitting room and perched tentatively on the sofa again.  
  
"Sorry, Father," he whispered. Sabinus shot him a poisonous look, but said no more, for at that moment Leticia returned with a bowl of strew, some bread, and a bottle of wine.  
  
"What's this?" Sabinus demanded.  
  
"Stew, dear."  
  
"Don't be factitious with me, woman! I can see it's stew. You expect me to eat that muck?"  
  
"I'm afraid it's all we have," said the small woman, softly. "I didn't have very much money this week - Severus needed new shoes."  
  
"I see," Sabinus hissed, rising. "Designer clothes for that spoiled brat are more important than giving your husband a decent meal after he's been working all day, eh?"  
  
"I bought the shoes as cheaply as I could, Sabinus," half-whispered Leticia. "His old ones were worn through, I've mended them several times."  
  
With a resounding crash, the bowl of stew flew through the air, propelled by a burst of blue light from Sabinus' wand. He pointed the wand at his wife as she hastily backed away from him.  
  
"Listen to me, you stupid cow," he growled. "I come *first* do you understand? *I* am your husband, and your loyalty is to me. If you want shoes for the brat, or anything else, you ask my permission. I'm sick of you neglecting my needs."  
  
"Father," a very small voice said.  
  
".if you do anything like this again, I'll use *this*" - he brandished the wand - "on more than the dinner, you understand?"  
  
"Father."  
  
"And if I ever catch you buying luxuries behind my back again."  
  
"Father!"  
  
"Shut UP!" Sabinus wheeled around to face his son, who was watching his parents anxiously.  
  
"It's just," said Severus, quietly, "if I give Mother the shoes back, perhaps she can get back the money and buy something else for dinner."  
  
Sabinus approached the boy slowly, wand before him, an ugly expression on his flushed face.  
  
"Are you being sarcastic, boy?"  
  
"N-no."  
  
"Come here."  
  
Slowly Severus began to back away. "I.I don't want to."  
  
"I don't give a damn what you want, you little wretch! COME HERE!"  
  
"Sabinus, he's just a child, please, leave him alone. He didn't mean to be insolent."  
  
"Shut up, woman! If you didn't spoil the brat so much he wouldn't back- chat me like this. I'll deal with you later," he hissed at his son. "You, you lazy bitch, go out and get me some proper food. I'm not eating that crap."  
  
Severus didn't know why he said it. Even fifty years later, he didn't know. All he remembered was a sudden unbearable hatred of his father rising up in him, an inability to keep silent in the face of his mother's suffering.  
  
"You'd have trouble," he said, in a clear voice. "It's all over the floor."  
  
A look of disbelief came over Sabinus' thin face. He knelt slowly in front of the boy, staring directly into the big black eyes.  
  
"Repeat that," he said softly. Severus gazed back at him.  
  
"I said, you'd have trouble eating the stew, because you threw it on the floor," he answered, steadily. Leticia gave a small moan, unheard by the others.  
  
"I was going to whip you for your cheek," Sabinus almost whispered, his eyes never leaving his son's face, "but this.this rudeness deserves a greater punishment." He stood, lifted his wand, pointed it at his son.  
  
"Sabinus, no!" Leticia screamed, grabbing her husband's hand. He threw her casually aside.  
  
"Don't dare to interfere, woman! And don't blame me for your failure to bring up our son properly. He needs discipline," Sabinus' voice softened a little. "Discipline, that's all. He'll be a fine man if I'm allowed to being him up correctly. You want to make Father proud, don't you, Severus?"  
  
Severus hesitated, debating whether or not he wanted to become the sort of man his father thought was good, and then whether it was in his best interests to say so. But his moment of reckless courage was past. He lowered his eyes, and said meekly,  
  
"Yes, Father."  
  
"Bear your punishment well, then," Sabinus said with a smile, and pointed his wand at the small, trembling child.  
  
"Crucio," he said, calmly.  
  
"That was the last time I stood up to my father until I went to school," said Severus Snape. "Mother begged me to be quiet in future, and I had no desire to be punished, though it really didn't matter what I did; Sabinus found reasons to punish me anyway. We carried on our lives in this fashion, with Mother becoming increasingly depressed and frustrated, though she always presented a vision of timid servitude in front of her husband. Sabinus drank more and more, often staying away from home for several nights at once, and almost always returning either drunk or hungover. Money became tighter than ever; family friends became ashamed to be seen with us, and stopped coming to the house. By the time I was six, we had no visitors at all.  
  
"When he wasn't engaged in illicit potion-making or out on one of his disgusting alcoholic binges, Sabinus attempted to school me in the Dark Arts. He was torn between pleasure at the speed with which I progressed in my abilities, and jealousy that I quite obviously possessed more natural aptitude than he. When I was nine he gave up the lessons and turned me over to the Malfoys - don't goggle at me Potter, you are well aware of my connection with Lucius. His father, Vibius, had begun teaching his son at the age of six, as my father had. Lucius had received his Hogwarts letter and, now that he had gone away to school, Vibius had the time available for a little more private tuition.  
  
"As you are aware, pureblood families - or *mostly* pureblood families, since I do not believe any completely pure line exists in this day and age, despite the claims of some - are interrelated in a complex fashion, rather like Muggle royalty. The Malfoys were therefore cousins of ours - the exact relationship is too complicated to bother going into, and doesn't really matter, in any case. What is important is that Lucius Malfoy was my cousin twice removed, and, even more bindingly, we were blood-bonded when he was eleven and I was nine. Potter, I cannot believe that at the age of thirty you are unaware of the practice of blood-bonding among pureblood wizarding families - but then, it no longer exists; in fact, I suspect that Lucius and I were among the last wizards to be bonded in this way. Very well, I will explain it.  
  
"Blood-bonds are created, usually between two children of reasonably pure- blooded families, via a ceremony and a great deal of complicated magic. In our case, the Malfoys were more pure of blood and wealthier and more powerful than us; therefore, when I was bonded to Lucius, it was given that I would be beholden to him and to his children. The bond could then be renewed between my children and his grandchildren. Yes, it is complex, Potter, I warned you of that - don't panic, all you need to understand is that the bond gave Lucius a considerable degree of control over me, preventing me from doing harm to him or his family, and from betraying him. I was also bound to protect his wife Narcissa and his son Draco, my godson.  
  
"You can imagine, then, the difficulties which emerged during the conflict with the Dark Lord as a result of this bond; betraying Lucius was emotionally difficult enough. The bonding ceremony, however, is not merely for show - it is a powerful magical contract. I am sure your startlingly dim wits require some elucidation, Potter, so allow me to offer a simple example. You recall no doubt that when you formed your little Defence Against the Dark Arts club as a reaction to the foul Umbridge woman, Hermione Granger - showing a competence of almost Slytherin quality, I must admit - jinxed the parchment you all signed, so that anyone betraying the group would be revealed? The Blood-Bonding ceremony is a far more complex and powerful instance of the same concept. Is that a light I see dawning, Potter? Yes, you are correct. The result of any betrayal by the subordinate party is a vicious and irreversible curse, preventing the traitor from performing any further magic. In its original form the curse often resulted in the demise of the unfortunate individual - were you aware that until only a century ago, Squibs were automatically put to death as soon as they were recognised? Clearly not; you appear shocked. Thirty years old, defeater of the Dark Lord, supposedly the most powerful wizard in the country and yet still as naïve as you were when you first appeared in my classroom. The world is a cruel place, Potter, and you and I are not its only victims.  
  
"What was that? No, of course I didn't agree to the bonding ceremony of my own free will. I was no fool, even at that tender age. Sabinus gave me no choice, and Mother could do nothing to prevent him. She would have tried had she known; however, coward that he was, Sabinus simply 'forgot' to tell her. After a little time alone with Vibius Malfoy, however, whose tongue was as silver as the serpents decorating his manor, my own views on the bonding changed somewhat."  
  
Severus sat silently on the rich and rather tasteless green-and-silver couch, his thin white hands clasped in his lap, and his large black eyes looking everywhere about the room, taking in the expensive furnishings. The Malfoys' drawing room was huge compared to home, with large gothic windows, and all the décor green and silver. Serpents appeared in many forms: as handles on the windows and doors, snaking along the perimeter of the room as a ceiling decoration, on the legs of chairs and tables. Severus was intrigued and a little disturbed. All the snakes looked poisonous, with their tongues extended and stiff, eyes gleaming in a very lifelike and unpleasant way. Looking at them, however, was better than returning the thoughtful gaze of Vibius Malfoy, who had not taken his cold grey eyes off Severus since the boy had arrived.  
  
He could not avoid looking at Malfoy when the man began to speak to him, however. Mr. Malfoy asked a lot of questions, mostly relating to the Dark Arts, but also about Severus' family - what houses they had been in at Hogwarts, how pure the bloodline was. He spoke to Severus as though he were an adult rather than a confused nine-year-old, and this was gratifying, but still the boy did not trust him. Most of the questions could have been answered by Sabinus Snape, who sat on a gilt chair across the room from his son, but Vibius addressed only Severus, and Sabinus volunteered no information.  
  
Finally, Malfoy stopped asking questions and turned his unnerving eyes to Sabinus, at last.  
  
"He will do," their host said simply. Sabinus nodded, looking smug, but also a little relieved.  
  
"And the money?" Severus' father asked.  
  
Malfoy pursed his lips, as though he found the question vulgar and ill- timed, but answered coolly,  
  
"As agreed. Five thousand Galleons."  
  
"And if you should have a daughter."  
  
"That is unlikely, but yes, if my wife and I should be blessed with a female child, she will be automatically betrothed to Severus."  
  
"You said," replied Sabinus, looking slightly mutinous, "that you'd find a suitable wife for my son regardless of whether you have a daughter or not. You said your wife's sister was also expecting a child."  
  
"I made no promise in that regard. My sister-in-law's arrangements for her child are not for me to interfere with. You are not in a position to make further demands, Snape. I admit that the boy is excellent, but if his price is too high, I will find another bond-mate for my son."  
  
Sabinus glared at the floor, biting his lip, but said nothing. Eventually he glanced at Vibius.  
  
"We are agreed, then. Five thousand Galleons and the *possibility* of a marriage."  
  
"Indeed."  
  
They shook hands, Malfoy wiping his quite obviously on a silk handkerchief afterwards. Though willing to buy, it was clear that he had no respect for a pauper capable of selling his own son to a Dark Wizard. For Severus, however, he reserved a frosty smile.  
  
"My son Lucius awaits us in the Mage Room on the second floor. It is appropriately equipped for the Bonding ceremony. You," he cast a sneering look at Sabinus, "may leave us for the moment."  
  
"I thought that the presence of a parent of each child was required in the pre-ceremonial instruction."  
  
"Not necessarily," Malfoy replied dryly. "Your knowledge of such things is limited, Snape. Do not attempt to discuss that which you improperly understand. Clearly I alone will have to instruct Severus as to the nature of the ceremony before we begin. Now leave us."  
  
"I."  
  
"The house-elf will prepare you a drink in the kitchen."  
  
The prospect of a drink overcame Sabinus' natural indignation at the implication that he was of no greater status than a servant. With a brief, sharp glance at Severus, he rose to his feet, hesitated at the door, and turned briefly back to his son.  
  
"Goodbye," he said simply.  
  
"Goodbye, Father," the child whispered. And then Sabinus was gone, and Severus was left alone with Vibius Malfoy.  
  
"Now then," Malfoy said, with an attempt at pleasantness, "how much do you know about the Bonding ceremony, Severus?"  
  
The boy looked at the floor, for a moment, marshalling his thoughts, then murmured,  
  
"The Bonding Ceremony is a powerful magical contract between."  
  
"Speak up, boy, I can barely hear you."  
  
"Please sir, Father always tells me I speak too loudly, sir."  
  
"Then speak quietly but clearly," Malfoy suggested, with a cool smile. Severus stared at him for a moment, then smiled back tentatively, and did as he was instructed.  
  
"It's a powerful magical contract between wizards, binding a child or youth of one family into the service of another."  
  
"Service! Your father has not taught you well, Severus. 'Service' is a poor word; it does no justice to the concept of Blood-Bonding."  
  
"Sorry, sir, please correct me, sir."  
  
"You are a very polite boy," Malfoy smiled, "I like that. Perhaps you can teach Lucius to lose a little of his arrogance. I despise arrogance, Severus, especially where it is inappropriate. There is nothing wrong in knowing your own worth, of course, but to brag about it is vulgar. However, you are rather *too* meek - we shall work on that. But to answer your question: what we might call the 'subordinate' - you know what the word means?"  
  
"Yes sir, thank you, sir."  
  
"Excellent. The subordinate wizard is bonded not to *serve*, but to - how can I put it - dedicate himself to the dominant wizard. To support him, be unfailingly faithful to him, champion his causes, protect his family. The subordinate wizard is not a servant but a helpmeet, an aide, sometimes an advisor. Do you understand now, Severus? The position you are taking on is an important one; you will be a great help to Lucius, and in return, you will want for nothing, and have his faith and trust all your life."  
  
Severus thought about this, gazing at the floor. He had not wanted, at first, to be Blood-Bonded to Lucius Malfoy, or to anyone. Sabinus had given him no choice. But Mr. Malfoy was saying that Severus would get something back for his service - despite the flowery explanation, Severus was intelligent enough to realise that that was what it amounted to - to the Malfoy family. The financial troubles plaguing the Snape family would be over, and Severus himself would have private tuition and guidance from a wealthy and powerful mentor. And, even more importantly, for the first time in his life he would have a friend; more than that, a sort of brother. Someone close to his own age to be with and learn from. Something he had never had before.  
  
"Are you willing to go through with the ceremony, Severus?" asked Mr. Malfoy, kindly enough; Severus knew he had no choice, and that the question was merely to disguise this fact, but it no longer frightened him. He offered another shy little smile.  
  
"Yes, thank you, sir."  
  
"Excellent."  
  
"It was a dimly lit room," said Severus Snape, "with no windows, no natural light whatsoever. The walls and ceiling were black. The floor was silver. All in all it had a profound effect on me; I had never seen anything quite like it. Only the most powerful and well-to-do Pureblood wizards - Dark Wizards, of course - possess such a thing as a Mage Room, where the blackest and most fearsome of magic is carried out. The walls themselves conduct magical power; they vibrate with it, the floor trembles with it.  
  
"Lucius was waiting for us there, sitting on the floor (there were no chairs) in the centre of the room. It was already set up for the ceremony; four black candles, giving off a strange, reddish light, cast a circle in the middle of the room. Lucius sat at a point between two of the candles. A black bowl was placed in the very centre circle. I was placed opposite him, and we waited while my father was fetched and brought to us. Predictably, he was half-drunk, having managed to consume an amazing quantity of alcohol even in so short a time. Fortunately his participation in the ceremony was more or less a formality; I myself was able to contribute some of the magic he could not, even at such a young age.  
  
"Lucius eyed me with interest while our fathers made the final practical preparations for the ceremony. We were not able to speak to one another, for fear of upsetting the delicate magical vibrations in the air, but his eyes communicated a great deal. He looked at me as a greedy child might eye an expensive new toy his parents have presented to him. I began to feel a little uncomfortable, but I had agreed to the ceremony and there was no going back; not now, not ever."  
  
Severus ran his long pale fingers through his greasy hair, pushing it out of the way so that he could gaze shyly back at Lucius. The pale-haired boy was beautiful, there was no denying it, and Severus captivated by him. The expression in the older boy's eyes was somewhat unnerving, but the younger child could overlook that, at the time, awestruck as he was by Malfoy's ethereal beauty. Lucius clearly knew exactly why Severus was participating in the ceremony today, and the effect it would have on them, the bond it would create. He smiled suddenly, making Severus feel as though he was bathing in winter sunshine. He had the feeling that Lucius might speak, even though it was forbidden.but at that moment Vibius stepped up to the edge of the circle between the two boys, and the ceremony began.  
  
First, Vibius beckoned Sabinus to join him at the circle's edge; Sabinus knelt, with a faint air of feeling slighted, opposite the pale-haired man. Vibius looked from him to Severus, then to Lucius, questioningly. All three nodded that they were ready. Slowly Malfoy picked up the black bowl from the centre of the circle, and, from beneath his robes, he took out a long, thin dagger with a very sharp point. He tapped the centre of the bowl with the dagger, then handed the vessel to Sabinus. Snape took it, looking even paler than usual; his hands trembled slightly, and not just with the effects of the drink. Severus gazed up at his father, knowing what was to come, determined not to disgrace himself by making a sound as the sharpened dagger sank into his small, thin arm. It was perhaps to his credit that Sabinus shuddered as he sank the metal into his child's flesh, withdrew it quickly, left Severus to bleed with his large black eyes tightly shut and his breathing rapid and irregular. Vibius calmly collected the blood in the black bowl, took the dagger, and turned to his own son. It was necessary that Severus should continue to bleed while Lucius' blood was being taken. In the past, a number of children had died as a result of this aspect of the Blood-Bonding ceremony.  
  
Lucius' arm was merely pricked with the dagger, and a few drops of blood spilled into the bowl to mingle with Severus'. The bowl was placed in the centre of the circle again, and Vibius touched Severus' bloody arm with his wand. The bleeding stopped instantly, the raw wound replaced with a small white scar that would never heal. It would remain on Severus' right arm, fading with the years but never entirely disappearing, mirrored all too soon by the Dark Mark of Lord Voldemort on his left.  
  
Vibius returned to his place opposite Sabinus, and both fathers raised their wands, pointing them at the black bowl. No incantations were used; the ceremony was entirely, eerily silent. Blue light streamed from Sabinus' wand into the bowl, mixing weirdly with the blood; a sickly purple stream moved upward from the bowl to Vibius' wand. When the bowl was empty, Vibius shot a single streak of reddish light back into it and thence into the wand of Sabinus. As one, the fathers turned and pointed their wands at their own sons. The same reddish light hit Severus in the chest and he jerked back, eyes widening in pained astonishment, mouth open in a silent scream of horror. Lucius shivered as purple light struck him, but did not appear to be in pain; it streamed slowly from Vibius' wand to Lucius' chest.  
  
After thirty seconds or so, the transfer ceased. Vibius put away his wand and said clearly,  
  
"The ceremony is over."  
  
Sabinus, who had been staring at his stricken son - Severus now lay prone at the edge of the circle - knelt beside the boy and shook him, trying to revive him. Vibius pushed Sabinus away and picked up the unconscious nine- year-old in his arms. Lucius, behind him, got to his feet unaided, though a little unsteady.  
  
"Come, Lucius," Vibius strode out of the Mage Room, carrying Severus, with Sabinus followed behind, looking rather helpless. Lucius Malfoy tailed them slowly, a faint, thin smile lingering around his pale lips. In the drawing room, Vibius sat on a sofa with Sabinus' son cradled in his lap, his sharp face surprisingly gentle. Sabinus looked on, bewildered and disgruntled.  
  
"What's wrong with him?"  
  
"This is normal, Snape. You may leave, if you wish. I will take care of Severus."  
  
"I'm taking him with me. He's still my son."  
  
Vibius smiled a little at that.  
  
"It would be best for the boy to remain here for the time being. He should get to know Lucius, my wife, and the household. We agreed that I would tutor him in the Dark Arts until he goes to school - will it be Durmstrang?"  
  
"Hogwarts," muttered Sabinus. He was not wasting a penny of his newfound wealth sending the brat to Durmstrang. Let Malfoy pay for the boy's education, if he wanted him to go there so badly!  
  
"Excellent," Vibius replied, much to Sabinus' surprise. "I should like him to attend the same school as Lucius; the boy should have the benefit of my tuition without confusion from the opinions of schoolteachers. Besides which, Hogwarts has a far better reputation than any other wizarding school for most other subjects. I suspect Severus has inherited your talent for potion-making, Sabinus?"  
  
"He assists me sometimes," Sabinus replied, warily.  
  
"Good. So few wizards understand the importance of potion-making these days. I suspect it may be a dying art, you know. I mean true potion- making, Sabinus, not the chemistry you dabble in."  
  
Snape's lip curled at this, but like most bullies he was a coward when faced with those more powerful than himself. He refrained from commenting, and said only,  
  
"I'll wait until he wakes up. Say goodbye. I'll need to explain to his mother," he added, aloud but to himself. Vibius smiled, but said nothing except,  
  
"I have no designs on kidnapping the boy, Sabinus. You shall have him home in three weeks' time, when Lucius has returned to school. I would not appreciate visits from you or your wife during this time, however. Severus and Lucius need time to learn about one another and to understand the magic which binds them."  
  
Sabinus was incapable of argument. Perhaps because he recognised, in that moment, exactly what he had done, he could not bring himself to stay and speak to Severus. Instead, he left the boy unconscious in the arms of his new guardian, and stepped out alone into the dull grey afternoon, his half- drunken mind struggling to justify the act which had seemed so perfectly designed to solve all his problems.  
  
In the drawing room of Malfoy Manor, Severus Snape awoke to find Lucius Malfoy leaning over him, one pale hand resting possessively on his chest. 


	3. Interlude 1

A/N This is a fairly short interlude rather than an actual chapter. Thanks to everyone who's reviewed so far. Please review this part too!  
  
Interlude 1  
  
Harry Potter leaned back in his chair, running his fingers through his tangled mass of rebellious dark hair. Snape watched him with one thin eyebrow raised, doubtless contemplating the similarity of that gesture to one made so often by James Potter - for different reasons - in his youth.  
  
"It's getting late, Potter," Snape remarked. "And I've run out of whisky."  
  
"You promised me the whole story," Harry reminded him. "It's only one thirty. The celebrations are going to go on for ages anyway, you know that. You also know that I'm not leaving your office until I'm certain everyone has gone to bed; there are a lot of people out there I don't want to run in to."  
  
Snape tsked. "After all they've done for you, Potter."  
  
"They don't really want to see me. They can't. Every time I come across one of the old crowd they're uncomfortable, don't know what to say to me."  
  
"Whose fault is that, boy?"  
  
"I'm aware of it," Harry snapped. "Anyway, the point is, we've still got a few hours to kill. I can come back tomorrow or whenever you want. But I want to hear it, I want to know everything about you. Of course, if you want to go to bed I can always bunk in your quarters."  
  
"That's quite enough, Potter. I can barely stand your invasion of my personal space during my waking hours; do you really think I could bear to *sleep* in the same room as you?"  
  
"Talk, then," replied Harry, grimly. "And don't give me that about running out of whisky."  
  
Snape snorted, got up, and collected a second bottle from his cupboard. This one, however, was labelled: single malt Scotch, made by a firm Harry had not heard of.  
  
"Are you trying to get me drunk, Potter? Hoping to see me break down and cry, I suppose."  
  
"I've seen you cry plenty of times," said Harry, coldly. "It doesn't interest me any more. All those Occlumency lessons from the sixth year onwards.when I finally started to get the hang of it, I saw a lot of flashes of your memories."  
  
"Then why bother with my narrative at all?" sneered Snape, but he took a long sip of whisky and topped up his glass. "You never mentioned what you saw during the lessons, Potter."  
  
"The first time - or second, since I suppose the first time was in fifth year - it was just a face; your mum, I think, looking tired, with a bruise on her cheek."  
  
Snape said nothing, staring bleakly into his empty glass.  
  
"There was lots of other stuff. Just to list the times when you cried, since you ask: first day at Hogwarts, after a Quidditch accident - I think you were in third year."  
  
"If you must know, Potter, that was no mere accident. Your beloved godfather, may he rest in peace and hopefully forever, jinxed my broom just before I tried out for a Chaser's position on the Slytherin team. I never played Quidditch again."  
  
"Whatever. Anyway, this has nothing to do with what I came for. You promised me."  
  
"I'm well aware of it, Potter. But if you wish me to continue with this, *you* should be aware that I am not giving you this very private information out of the goodness of my heart. I will expect something in return."  
  
"Such as what?"  
  
"Patience, Potter. That comes later. Do you want to hear the rest or not?"  
  
Harry took a sip of whisky.  
  
"As you said, it's late. I want to hear this, but I want to take it in properly. We could continue tomorrow, and this time," he gave a faint smile, "I'll bring my own booze."  
  
"Not a bad idea. But what about the old comrades you're trying to avoid?"  
  
"I wasn't planning on leaving just yet. There's some stuff I want to ask you."  
  
"Wonderful," Snape muttered, pouring himself yet another drink, "question time. Well, go on, Potter. I suppose it was inevitable that you wouldn't understand half of what I explained to you."  
  
Harry eyed his old teacher thoughtfully, trying to decide how best to broach the issue he wanted clarifying. Snape seemed unconcerned by Harry's silent scrutiny; the older man stared blankly into his drink, black eyes unfathomable.  
  
"It's about Lucius Malfoy," said Harry eventually, "and how you were bonded to him."  
  
"Is it that complicated?"  
  
"I want to know the details. What kept you bound to Malfoy? Was it just the prospect of being cut off from doing magic, or was there something else?"  
  
There was a pause. Snape glared into his whisky for a few moments, then gave a deep sigh that turned into a yawn.  
  
"There were other factors," he murmured, wearily. "The ceremony itself created a powerful connection which to some extent allowed Malfoy to -" he paused, a look of disgust crossing his thin face, "control my mind."  
  
"Like the Imperius curse?" Harry was astonished. How could Dumbledore have trusted a man who could potentially be controlled by Lucius Malfoy?  
  
"You may think of it that way for simplicity, Potter. But you should realise that Lucius did not - could not - use me in such a fashion. I was bound to him as his subordinate, but, even from the beginning, when he was two years older than me, I was the more powerful wizard. He could not control me, but via our connection, I was eventually able to exert some influence over him. You are aware of my skill - my late skill - in Occlumency, Potter. This allowed me to block Malfoy completely from my mind, prevent him gaining access to my thoughts and feelings."  
  
"I see," Harry answered, neutrally. He had heard the slight catch in Snape's voice as he referred to his 'late' ability as an Occlumens. But Harry could not feel any pity for Snape - for a long time, he had been unable to feel sorry for anyone but himself.  
  
"And did you?" Harry prompted, when Snape fell silent. The ex-professor jumped slightly, as though coming out of a reverie.  
  
"To a degree. The bond between us made it more difficult; otherwise I could have penetrated his mind with relative ease, as I did those of several other Death-Eaters in my role as a spy for the Order of the Phoenix. Malfoy was cunning, but he did not have as much intelligence or mental strength as he would have had everyone believe. I quickly outstripped him during my Dark Arts lessons with his father Vibius."  
  
"Bet he didn't like that," Harry remarked dryly.  
  
"On the contrary, Lucius was satisfied to have a potential lieutenant capable of defending him. His other friends - Crabbe, Goyle, and so on - had barely two brain cells to rub together, and little in the way of power. They were brawn without intellect, like their sons. As long as Malfoy considered himself in charge of the situation - as long as he was the leader - he was happy. Lucius' was a simple personality to understand; he wanted power, he wanted secure authority, he wanted loyal helpers for this ambition. That was all he was interested in; he chose to support the Dark Lord."  
  
"Voldemort," said Harry. Snape scowled, but echoed coldly,  
  
".chose to support *Voldemort* because he was sure Voldemort would win in the end. Dark wizards have access to powers other wizards will not touch, through nobility, moral superiority, or plain fear. Obviously Voldemort's policies were also rather more to Lucius' tastes than the Ministry's or Dumbledore's, but he was willing to hedge his bets. Lucius tried to influence the Ministry, as you know, Potter, and did a most effective job of it. He was trying to make sure that whoever won, he would be in a good position."  
  
"I'd figured that out for myself, thanks," said Harry dryly. Snape scowled at him.  
  
"Your sarcasm wounds me," he growled. "That's enough for tonight, Potter. I'm going to bed; I suggest you go home and do the same. I daresay our mutual friends in the Hall will be too drunk by now to notice your departure."  
  
Harry left Snape's office a few minutes later, slipped past the noise and light of the Great Hall, and went into the grounds, intending to disapparate just outside the boundary. As he paused by the lake, wondering whether the Giant Squid still lurked in its depths, memories came to his mind, unbidden. Crossing the lake with Hagrid when he first arrived at the school, convinced that from now on his life could only get better. The Durmstrang ship emerging from the water - the Triwizard tournament, the death of Cedric Diggory. Victor Krum. Harry's promise to himself at the start of his sixth year that after Voldemort was dead, after it was all over, he would turn his attention fully to Quidditch, maybe play for England some day. Viktor Krum's death and Hermione's grief - though never involved in the way Ron had once feared, they had been good friends, especially after Krum moved to England, years ago. He had assisted in teaching Quidditch at Hogwarts after Voldemort's fall; a Quidditch accident had killed him, three years later. Harry had not attended the funeral, but he had sent Hermione an owl giving some rubbish excuse. She had let it pass, but Harry knew it had damaged their friendship even further. Hermione had been the last to give up on him, and when she finally had, losing her had not really hurt him; that, Harry realised dimly, had been the worst thing of all. It was ironic, he mused; all that time studying Occlumency with Snape, struggling to control his emotions, and now, standing by the lake, remembering the best and worst events of his life, he felt nothing at all. 


End file.
